Into Darkness
by SpecialAgentCoop
Summary: 19 year old Remi Lebeau thought he had moved on from his past destruction in New Orleans. Unfortunately, Sinister has been tracking his every movement, and has a violent Victor Creed at his beck and call to do all his dirty work... Warnings: This fic has a lot of very intense non-con in later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

Remy looked round at the four men playing poker. They looked to be military, and each had at least a hundred pounds on his own small frame. The largest had a mangy head of blonde hair, and dog tags hung around his thick neck. His nails were long and sharp—each tap of one on the table put Remy more on edge. That one had a particularly nasty look to him, but Remy ignored his feelings of doubt and felt the thrill of the game take over. He started slow, playing the innocent and losing some dough, but worked his way up till he had thousands sitting in the pot. He laid his winning hand on the table and glanced up at the men.

He felt the mood in the room change suddenly, his senses tingling and alert as he became aware of the suddenly deafening silence around the bar. With a quick glance behind him he saw the empty tables—saw Henri locking and barring the front entrance.

"Thanks for the game boys, but I think I will be going now" he spoke as he deftly scooped up the leftover bills from the table. The vicious looking man with the swinging dog tags around his neck slammed his hand over Remy's.

"Not so fast ' _boy_ ' _._ I can smell a hustler a mile away and you reek." His eyes glinted maliciously as his grip tightened. Remy snatched his hand away and laughed uncomfortably. There was a visible tightening in the eyes of all the men at the table. With years of experience dealing with big town thugs and gambling addicts, Remy knew all the signs of trouble as well as he knew his own name. It was time to leave and the way tensions appeared to be mounting it was time to leave fast. He threw all the swagger he had into his voice and backed away from the table.

"Take it up with Henri, boys—he runs the place clean. I am done dealing with you lot."

"Henri doesn't much look like he appreciates dealing with you _LeBeau_ " the violent one growled again.

Remy stopped in his tracks and felt a tendril of cold fear snaking its way up his spine. How did that one have any idea who he was? That name had gotten him in a lot of trouble when he was younger and not in control of his mutant powers—and he had spent a lot of years running, laying low, and paying money and favors to the right people to have it wiped off the record. Hearing the name LeBeau set off all kinds of warning bells. He twisted to find Henri and almost jumped out of his skin when he turned right in to him.

"Sorry Remy. They paid better than you ever could."

Henri actually looked like he felt halfway bad about the exchange, but Remy had no time to feel any empathy towards the man. He was truly screwed. If these guys were paying for information about him, then nothing good could come of the exchange. At best, they were hood rats out to get even for some past gambling debt. At worst…well…he had unintentionally hurt a lot of people when he was newly coming into his mutant abilities. Important people. People with nasty connections. He quickly scanned the room—took in the 4 men from his table rising and moving towards him, and Henri still at his back—then took off out the back door of the building channeling all the nimbleness of his thieving teenage years.

"Let me at the runt."

Essex looked at Creed who was already salivating in anticipation of the hunt.

"I want him in one piece Victor—not torn to shreds. He needs to be able to withstand blood work and testing once we get back to the island. He is dangerous. I want him drugged and pliable before we pick him up. Get him subdued and then radio in. We'll pick you up. Keep it quiet—but I doubt anyone will miss another rat from these streets."

Victor snarled in agreement then dropped to all fours and tore out of the bar in pursuit.

Remy ran without looking back. His first thought was to get to his crummy low rent apartment on St. Claude Avenue. He would grab a few things then head back underground. He would need a new ID, new papers, a new name. He swore under his breath and then felt his breathing hitch as he heard crashing coming from behind him. He was on a dim side street still a quarter of a mile from home when Creed leapt out from behind him and slammed all 240 pounds of pure muscle into Remy's lean frame. They tumbled to a stop with Creed planted firmly on top and Remy struggled for a grip on a small playing card from his pocket. His eyes felt as though they were swimming, and they couldn't focus properly. His head had smacked back on the pavement hard and he could feel warm stickiness making its way down the nape of his neck. He began to thrum with the raw kinetic energy he was streaming into the playing card and tried desperately to launch it in Creed's direction. It exploded in Creed's face, a shower of sparks raining down on the two men and Remy scrambled for purchase under his feet while Creed gripped his eyes howling as blood ran between his fingers. Remy managed to get his feet under him for a second and turned to run again but a large hand reached out and snagged his foot—pulling him down hard and knocking the wind out of him. He turned to look into the face of a snarling and furious Victor Creed, and gasped in shock as he saw the mutant's skin knitting together in mere seconds along the numerous puncture wounds from the card missile.

"H..h..how…" He stuttered out and then saw a flash of deep red, then darkness as Creed's enormous fist crashed into his skull.

Remy came to with a quiet moan in slow increments. His left eye throbbed and was swollen mostly shut. His mouth tasted like copper, and his breathing was raspy and hitched—he could feel a sharp pain in his ribs with every breath he took. He slowly surveyed his surroundings and was surprised to find himself on the roof of a building, slumped up against the wall of the fire escape. He tried to inch his way towards the door but froze when he heard a voice in the darkness.

"Awake are we now boy? I think it's high time we had just a bit of fun."

Remy tried to focus his eyes, to see into the shadows cast by the fire escape. He could see glowing, feral orbs staring back at him. He blinked, and swallowed down a sudden bout of nausea that threatened to overtake him. Creed sauntered out from the darkness and bent over Remi, picking up his limp right arm and running long claws down the inside flesh. Remi flinched as blood blossomed along the shallow scrapes.

"What do y'want wit me?" he mumbled, slipping back into his native accent.

"What do I want? Just to have some fun with you, runt. Where you're going, you will have all the time in the world to think. I want to make sure you are thinking about me." Creed winked lasciviously then started putting a slow pressure on Remi's right forearm.

Remi squirmed, then tried futilely to pull away but Creed kept pushing and grinning like a mad man. Finally, with a loud crack, Remi screamed. Creed let go and Remi's arm flopped uselessly at his side. He quickly cradled it to himself and tried desperately to control his breathing which was coming out in panicked, sharp and painful bursts. He willed himself to stop the whimpers from his lips that he could hear punctuating the night but they seemed reluctant to end. His arm was a throbbing with a steady burn and jagged points of pain were radiating throughout his body. He could hear the bones rubbing together with every movement and he tried to hold himself as still as possible to minimize the hurt. Creed watched the pain glazed eyes—watched the tightening of the kid's body and the quick shudders of his breaths—and quietly chuckled.

 _Remi had taken up residence in Omaha 3 years ago, just after turning 16. He came into town on a bleak January morning and within hours had found himself at a local bar, sharking pool. His lanky teenage build, shaggy auburn hair, and liquid brown eyes lent themselves to an easy hustle and that evening he had pocketed enough cash to rent out a cheap motel room for the week. His fake ID read Samuel Novak, listed his birthplace as Lawrence,Kansas and his age as 22. The clerk at the front desk gave him a quick once over, squinting at Remi over the ID, then shook his head with a mutter and passed over the key to a small apartment room 188—the room that would become home for the next 3 years. He began answering only to Sam, and tried to forget about the destruction he left in his wake, and the kid brother he left to the social services of New Orleans. He lost the Cajun drawl, and worked to perfect his Midwestern look. For three years he ran a successful hustling racket in the local clubs, and befriended bar owner Henri, who occasionally helped set up the visiting clientele for Remi—providing free drinks, and a few covert suggestions as to who might be up for an easy game or two for cheap. Remi always split the profits 50/50 with Henri, and he developed a deeper friendship than he would have thought possible being a fugitive on the run. Of course, he was being naive—letting go of his paranoia too easily—and obviously never should have given Henri his trust…_

After his right arm had been fractured the monster had backed off suddenly. In the distance, Remi could see him placing a call and talking animatedly to whoever happened to be on the other end. Remi wondered fleetingly where the other 3 from the bar had ended up, and then channeled all his energy into trying to move his aching body by inches from the spot he was curled up in. He let out a low moan, and saw Creed from the corner of his eye look up, pocket his phone, and then advance quickly. Remi's left hand scrabbled at the pavement searching for any pebble he could charge and throw. In a growing panic, his fingers closed around a tiny piece of gravel just as Creed backhanded him hard across the face. He looked up to see something glinting in Creed's hand, then felt a jab as the monster emptied a small syringe into the side of his neck. Creed backed away giving Remi the opening he was looking for— he focused his energy into the small pellet ready to let it fly and

Nothing.

The rock dropped from his open fingers as his eyes grew wide in horror. He barely registered Creed's smirk from above him. His mind was racing as over and over again he tried to release the kinetic energy that had been with him since birth, and over and over again it felt as though he was slamming into a concrete wall built up in his brain. He could feel the energy he had already stored thrumming in his body, looking for release, climaxing uncomfortably as it sought any escape from the confines of his skin—but there was no way to reach it—no way to get it out—no way to stop the burning from inside of him. Remi gulped for air and frantically tried to calm down, steady his breathes. With each passing moment the energy lessened considerably until he was able to function again, able to focus instead on the still ever present agonizing pain in his right arm. The whole incident had taken only moments, though it felt like an eternity. Creed still watched, his grin growing ever larger.

"Like that runt?" Creed rasped. "Essex developed that just for you. Used your DNA and everything. If I were you, I wouldn't try charging stuff up anytime soon—y'won't be able to release it…and that charge has to get soaked up somewhere. Do it enough and you might just melt the skin off that pretty face of yours…and I'm not quite done looking at it yet."

Besides making his skin crawl with his tenuous sexual advance, Remi knew something in that statement should be bothering him…something about his DNA…but his head was too muzzy to think straight anymore. He felt himself growing angry at his predicament—furious with himself for once again being too weak to fight back—furious with Creed for taking so much pleasure in his obvious discomfort. He took a deep breath, and spit right in Victor's face.

"Screw you asshole," he exhaled with all of his pent up fury.

Creed's eyes narrowed and his face turned a mottled purple in anger. He reached out and wrapped one hand in Remi's shirt front and the other snarled in his hair. Remi felt himself being dragged across the rooftop, and was powerless to stop it. Victor threw him across the roof and then bounded after him, slamming into the younger mutants limp form. He attacked at Remi in a frenzy—clawing, and biting, and kicking out—fighting like the feral cat he was. Remi curled in on himself and tried to protect his already injured arm. He felt his ribs crack under one harsh punt to his side. He gasped out in pain and tried to roll away only to feel his broken arm snag into Creed's reach. Remi sobbed out. His breathing was coming in sharp bursts—he couldn't get a full breath in without gasping in pain from his fractured ribs. He wriggled in a growing panic as Victor pinned his arms above his head and drew a long claw out, slicing through the thin layer of Remi's shirt. "Please….please…. please…" The nineteen year old was babbling in pain, trying to control his sobs, trying to relax, wishing he would just black out, wishing the hurt would stop. He knew what was coming next—memories he had buried deep were quickly surfacing—"please…please…please," it was his personal mantra, eyes squeezed shut against the monster positioned above him. He could hear what sounded like helicopter wings in the distance, and felt Creed tense up above him, and then rip down his jeans in a renewed fervor. The damage he had sustained was threatening to overwhelm him, and he started to black out when he heard a loud voice.

"Victor. Stop. NOW."

Remy felt Victor slowly draw up and heard people running over. Heard more voices, and jumbled conversation.

"Jesus Christ Victor—he's just a kid. What the hell man?" More shouts of distaste—comments made. A sterner, darker voice spoke from the distance again.

"What part of 'subdued in one piece' does your idiot feral brain not understand? Get him up and in the chopper. I'll be dealing with you later."

"Yes, Master," Creed mumbled.

Victor made his way back over to where Remi was lying and kicked him in the stomach.

"Get up Runt."

Remy tried to move, made it to his knees, and suddenly doubled over and vomited.

"Ah shit Creed. You really screwed him up" another voice spoke from the distance. Remy stayed hunched over for a moment—tried to breath and swallow the bile still in his throat—and felt Creed's forceful hands grab him from behind, roughly pull up his pants, and yank him towards the chopper. He stumbled along limply, still horribly nauseous, and tried not to think about where he was being taken—tried not to think about the fact that some of the voices were recognizable as the men he had played poker with earlier that evening—the men who knew his real surname. Tried not to think about anything as he was handcuffed inside the bird, his insides hurting, his right arm burning, and his powers stripped, leaving him completely and utterly helpless. Tried not to think as the blackness he had prayed for finally over took him and he slumped unconscious against his bonds.


	2. Chapter 2

Creed listened to the roar of the chopper as they began their descent over the arctic islands. He was absentmindedly chewing on his left thumb nail—gnawing at the flesh still speckled brown with blood. As he inhaled he could still smell the scent of the young mutant on his hide. He could smell the still fresh tang of coppery blood—but less present he could smell the bitter overtones of cigarette smoke, the hint of pungent whiskey, the faint smell of leather. He sighed and leaned back in his seat. The kid was bound up somewhere behind him. After the kid had lost consciousness, they had pumped him full of enough Ketamine to keep him out for the day and a good portion of the evening. He was in for an exciting time of it, Creed thought viciously. Not for the first time, Victor found himself thankful to be on Essex's 'good' side. He got to hunt, and he wasn't subjected to the dozens of mutant experiments Essex was conducting in his underground suffering cells. He also had the added privilege of tormenting the new meat. Essex was busy enough keeping Xavier's 'X-Men' off their tails while conducting his research that he had no time to follow Creed around for a quick slap on the wrist. Creed messed around on the side and indulged in some of his baser instincts and Essex turned a blind eye. This kid though—this Remy—was going to be a fun one to crack. He had this certain look, this swagger that reminded Creed of someone else he wanted to sink his claws into—a certain brother from a past life. It wouldn't take long before he had the young mutant following him around like an obedient little hound. It wouldn't take long until he had his ticket back into Logan's world.

Remy began the slow float back to consciousness with a steady buzzing in his ears. His awareness flitted around his cavernous being like a lurid butterfly—he kept trying to pin it down and focus. The butterfly found the situation amusing and giggled, pointing an accusing finger at Remy's face. The rational portion that was locked away in a corner of his mind was screaming in a panic. Something was horribly wrong. He was swimming through muck, trying desperately to surface—each bob up brought him closer to horrible pain and he would dive back down again reaching frantically for the butterfly. The buzzing grew louder around him and with a final pop he burst through to lucidity. He moaned and cracked his eyes open. He could feel a heavy pressure, as though all of his limbs were trapped under the weight of a building. He tried to blink away the fog and it took all of his concentration to move his eyelids the slightest bit. Through even the haze of drugs the hurt in his right arm was enough to take his breath away. He was being dragged unceremoniously down a narrow hallway cut into stone. Cold permeated the space around him—he could feel the heavy frost in the air and he shivered. He hated the cold. He hated cold…

One of the large men dragging him by the left arm gave a glance backwards and murmured to a companion.

"Kid's waking up. I thought you dosed him."

"I gave him 100mgs of Ketamine. Should have been enough to keep him out another hour. Fool must still have some fight left in him"

Remy wanted to laugh aloud. Right now he didn't know if he could even get to his feet on his own let alone fight. He had no idea where in the world he was, his mind and body were moving through a thick mush of drug induced haze, his kinetic abilities were stalled, breathing was still difficult from the earlier beating he had taken, and his right forearm was almost certainly fractured in multiple places. He was going to bow his head, acquiesce to any requests, do his best to be agreeable, and bide his time until another option presented itself.

The men dragging him stopped at a door in the stone wall. They entered some pass code into the surface, and then waited as it slowly opened. Remy let them push him into the interior chamber and gathered his breath as they hauled him standing up to his feet. He was watching the floor, still feeling very lightheaded, when a voice he identified as Essex began to speak.

"Well Hello Mr. Lebeau. I am so thrilled you have found your way to our underground movement. We are quite happy to have you as part of the team."

Remy grunted in response and eyed the older man warily. At 5 foot 10 Essex was only slightly taller than the teen, but he had an air of raw power emanating from his being. He wore a very clean white lab coat and sterile gloves. Behind him there sat a wide array of what looked like medical equipment. In the corner, a comprehensive laboratory was set up and colored fluids bubbled and frothed lending themselves to the 'mad scientist' feel of the place. Directly to his right, there was a hospital cot set up complete with thick leather restraints for the neck, waist, wrists, and ankles. Remy suddenly wasn't so sure if his agreeable stance was his best plan for escape. All he knew was that he as far from those fetters as humanly possible, wanted nothing to do with being chained helplessly to the bed while this madman performed whatever experiments he wanted on the young mutants flesh. He tried to back up on his trembling legs, but smacked right in to one of the large men who had pulled him into the chamber. Immediately, he and another crony grabbed Remy by his legs and arms and heaved him up onto the narrow cot. Despite the pain in his arm, Remy started to buck and thrash wildly. His heart rate quickly elevated and he sucked in air in a complete panic. He managed to snap his head back into the nose of the first man and felt the hands on his feet loosen momentarily. He dropped to his knees but before he could get to his feet and run he was viciously backhanded across his cheek. His face immediately started to swell and he choked up a mouthful of blood as both men regained control and quickly snapped him into place on the cot. The fight was over before it had even begun. Each of the six restraints were buckled tightly so he found himself spread eagled on the bed, his arms and legs pulled tightly and his swollen right arm being mercilessly held hostage—bones rubbing excruciatingly.

Remy squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to slow down his panicked breathing. He was caught and bound again and his brain was being flooded with memories from his childhood. He could only think of the dark, of the handcuffs, of the dark, of the terror, of the dark…

"…clean you up, inspect your damage, then start your charts and get you off to your new quarters…"

Essex's droning voice cut into the darkness, releasing Remy from the sudden onslaught of his memories. He cracked open his eyes to see Essex standing over him with a clipboard and a nurse who had appeared holding a small pair of shears. At a nod from Essex, she bent over and began slicing away the remains of Remy's flannel and denim and pulling the torn clothing from his weakened frame. He shivered in the frigid air of the lab and felt goose bumps shiver up all over his body. He tried to pull away from her sterile touch but the bonds held him in place so he looked helplessly on as she began to run gloved hands over his naked form and speak:

"Numerous contusions to the abdomen. Cracked ribs. Deep cuts on right forearm but no significant blood loss. Severe swelling of right arm most likely due to fracture of the ulna. Possible concussion."

Remy listened to her rattle off his injuries in a half daze. He wanted more than anything to be back in Omaha in his warm bed curled up in his sheets smelling of stale cigarettes and spiced orange aftershave. He longed for his crummy apartment, a swig of hot whiskey, the caress and embrace of a body next to his own. He focused on all these things and barely felt the pinch of the needle in his neck. He let the muzzy warm sensation of the new drug float its way through his veins and the room grew dimmer and dimmer to his closing eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

_He could feel rough hands hauling him up to his feet..could smell the feral breath. He tried to shove back out of that rough grip, but the pain in his broken arm proved too much and he pressed his eyes closed and tried to breath. His head was ripped back, and he could feel the beast breathing down his neck…_

Remy threw himself upright with a shriek—clawing away the thin sheets that were wrapped around his legs in a panic. He reached inside himself to his powers and began to charge…

wait.

The sudden wall he hit inside his conscious pitched him forward into reality and with a few sharp and steadying breaths of oxygen he disregarded the warning bells going off in his brain about the continuing absence of his abilities and calmed himself enough to eye his surroundings.

He was in a small chamber that contained a metal toilet and sink in one corner, a small dresser that appeared to be bolted to the floor on the opposing wall, and a rusty twin bed frame with a thin mattress that he was currently perched on. There were no extra amenities besides the two slight sheets he had discarded by his feet. The entire room was lit by a harsh fluorescent bulb affixed to the middle of the ceiling. He noticed that he was now wearing a pair of thin blue cotton pants and a t-shirt, as well as a hospital style bracelet that had only a barcode and the number #14 notated. Remy scooted off the bed in frustration before it hit him. His arm wasn't broken. He was using both freely with no pain whatsoever. He quickly felt over his ribs and lifted his shirt in surprise. There was no soreness, there was no bruising, there was nothing but traces of dried blood still caking his skin where there should be wounds. He felt better than he had in weeks…better than he had in months really!

But Creed…but that man…Essex? He could remember everything they had both done clear as day. He could still remember the pain of Creed charging him—he could still remember the agonizing crack of bone—could still remember the raw lust before the helicopter had shown up. He could remember the lab—being hauled up on the table and stuck with syringes. How had he been healed so quickly? How long had he been here? Where was here? Why was he being held captive?

In sudden anger, Remy rushed the door. There was no handle on the inside—no way to escape once placed within. He pounded and screamed with all his might for what seemed like hours before finally sinking to the floor with a helpless sob. He wanted home. He wanted his brother. He curled up tightly around himself and cried…and cried…and cried…

 _Remy was 11 when he first discovered he could charge things. He had just taken another beating from his foster dad and was curled up on the floor listening to the escalating shouting downstairs, blood streaming from his nose and anger coursing through him. He reached out for the closest thing to him—a beat up shoe—and threw it with all his might at the wall, where it exploded in a shower of sparks. Remy had shot backwards in surprise, sparing a glance for his hand from which a steady glow was fading. It had scared the crap out of him—and had caused him even more grief when the next day he found himself trying to explain away the dark soot smudge left in its wake to a man whose beefy hands had him hauled up against the plaster walls, pleading for his life._

 _After that initial afternoon, it only took a small amount of time (and a large amount of destruction) before Remy figured out that it was his anger fueling the small explosions. By age 13, he had largely learned to control them, and summon the strange ability at will—rather than depending on his rage. He was terrified of hurting someone—terrified of his foster parents finding out and putting him back in to the system and being separated from his brother Michael—terrified enough of that definite possibility that he pushed the strange manifestations of his emotions down beneath his surface and pretended that he was still normal. Michael was three years younger than Remy, and worlds more innocent. Remy was determined to keep it that way._

 _The boys had been forced into the system at a young age after their parents had died in a house fire the police had later dubbed 'arson'. Remy's earliest memory was of breathing in smoke—choking on the thick oily stuff—and desperately trying to get to his brother. Michael had only been 2 when they were taken in by the Fuller's whose syrupy sweet performances for the social workers hid the demons who lurked beneath those sickening smiles…_

Remy abruptly awoke from his stupor to the sound of the door being unlocked. He scurried back out of the way and up on to his feet before the thick slab of concrete could open. Two men wearing grey guard-like uniforms stepped in to the brightly lit cell. One towered over the young mutant and had a nasty looking sneer plastered to his face, and the other held out some sort of scanning device. The tall one barked in a deep condescending tone:

"Arms forward Number 14."

Remy took another step backwards and pushed his shoulder length hair out of his face. He glowered at the two men and shot back:

"I am not coming near you until you tell me where the hell I am."

The short guard sighed loudly.

"Jesus kid—just take it easy. We just need to scan your cuff and then take you down to Central to get your paperwork in order and set things up."

"Forget it," Remy shook his head. "Tell me what's going on, or you can just forget it."

"Look runt," the tall guard took a step forward. "You can let us scan your damn arm, and escort you down to Central on your own two feet, or we can carry you there." As he spoke, he removed a small metal case from his belt and opened it to reveal a tiny syringe. Remy's eyes darted from that case, to the opened door behind the two men. Without more than a seconds thought, he bolted towards freedom. The smaller guard jumped back in surprise as the kid threw a punch to his face. Remy felt his fist collide with something soft and heard a cursed exclamation from the guy, and kept moving through the small opening…twisting his lithe body around the larger man…breathing in the fresh air from the outside corridor…

A large hand clamped around his foot and he came down hard with a strangled cry. He threw his self around and clawed out as the guard grabbed the syringe and quickly jabbed then emptied it into Remy's thigh. A sudden warmth spread through his skin and he felt himself sinking down into a fuzzy lassitude. While his mind was still shrieking out at him—something about drugs and being subdued yet again—his body was wearily relaxed as the guard scooped him up and shouldered him out the door. He could hear the sounds of information being relayed through a crackling radio, but it seemed so far in the distance he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"Sir, uh, Number 14 had to be subdued."

*pause*

"Yes sir. Again. He tried to bolt."

*pause*

"15 CC's worth. Should only last twenty minutes or so. On our way now."

Remy rested his head against the tall guard's shoulder as they made their way down the long hallway and out into a brightly lit foyer where they waited for an elevator. He noticed that they seemed to be in some sort of underground bunker—though the room was bright, the illumination was all coming from the presence of light fixtures that were drilled into a slightly damp, stone wall. A bell dinged as the lift's doors opened, and all three men stepped on before it lurched upwards with a grinding sound.

They travelled upwards for what seemed like an eternity to the drugged up Remy, but finally, the doors opened again admitting them into a very large stone room that was partitioned in to sections. There were desks and cubbies set up along the far side where all matter of clothing and essentials seemed to be stored on one side. There were also a few cafeteria style tables next to an open café-like space where a few guards seemed to be chatting. Over in the corner, there were chest high tile dividing walls that separated a small shower area. The whole set up was completely overwhelming to Remy, who was still focusing on maintaining consciousness. Why were there guards making light hearted conversation in an underground room, next to a shower station? He would have paused to let his fogged up brain process that question, but he was suddenly heaved off of the large guard with a grunt and had to focus all his attention on maintaining an upright position. Whatever this drug was they had given him, it was really screwing with his head. His limbs felt like they each weighed a hundred pounds and his eyes couldn't focus on anything without him feeling horribly dizzy. They had reached a long desk where men in uniforms that looked vaguely military were typing away on computer systems. One of the men at the desk looked up straight at him. He realized that the guards were talking again, and tried to process the information as they spoke.

"…has been giving everyone trouble since he got here. He still needs to be cleaned up, and given essentials and put on a feeding schedule Commander Nelson."

The man behind the desk—Nelson apparently?—looked down at his computer for a moment, then back up at the trio.

"Essex has him down for three sessions a day. He will begin experiments tomorrow morning at 8am. He is to be kept on his suppressant and left on lockdown any time he is not being escorted to and from the laboratory. A certain…situation…that may arise with this one has Essex on edge."

Remy's guard grunted his agreement then shoved him towards the showers.

"Strip down kid."

Remy picked up his head which had somehow dropped towards the floor with some effort and glanced up in surprise. He gave a small look around the room, noticing the numerous guards who were now openly staring at him.

"I…uh…why?"

"Oh come on—even drugged to the gills you have to sit here and give me grief? You stink like you have been crawling around in a gutter, you've got blood, and dirt, and God knows what caked all over you, and Essex may have been willing to get you healed up nice and quick looking like death warmed over, but he sure as hell won't feel the same way when he sees you first thing tomorrow morning. So strip, and get in the God damn shower before I have to do it for you."

He accentuated his little outburst with a mild shove that knocked Remy almost completely off balance. God, the way his head was swimming right now he wasn't sure he could even get his shirt over his head without help. He tried not to care—tried to let the drugs swirl comfortingly around his thoughts—and placed a hand on the cold tile wall for balance while he tried futilely to pull his shirt up over his head.

"Christ."

The guard looked pissed as hell when he grabbed over and yanked the shirt off. Then he pulled off the pants leg by leg and gave Remy a push in to the steam of the running shower.

Standing in the warm water, Remy felt some semblance of life begin to trickle slowly back through his veins. He supposed his 'twenty minutes' or whatever the guard had radioed was quickly coming to an end. He breathed in deeply and tried to fill his lungs with as much oxygen as he could manage—tried to get his blood pumping to channel the drug induced stupor from his body. He sluiced the dirt and dried blood from his face and torso and watched as filthy brown water ran down the drain. He quickly used up the small bar of soap that had appeared on the ledge and rinsed off his hair. The water cut off suddenly, and he was left standing there in the quickly clearing steam, suddenly much more self conscious then he had been five minutes prior when he had spent all his energy just trying to remain upright. He could still make out a few guards eyeing him over the short barrier, but for the most part they just seemed mildly curious to see what was going on with the new recruit. He relaxed…slightly…as tall guy handed him a new pair of cotton pants and a t-shirt, and he quickly shrugged into the thin clothes. They marched him over to the cubby area where they stacked a thin, scratchy blanket, a second change of clothes, a pair of socks, a toothbrush and toothpaste, and a comb on to his outstretched arms, and then they turned him around and walked him back out the door.

"Please—just tell me why I am here? What here even is?" Remy tried to keep his newly conscious panic from entering his voice. He had no intention of being drugged up again—he hated not having proper control of his body—that terrified him more than being marched back to his little cell. But he had to figure out what was going on so he could plan a more proper escape later. He was not going to stick around with people who knew frighteningly too much about his personal life…

"Kid. Quit whining. You are a mutant piece of shit—hardly even human. If the government wants to experiment on you…things for their own purposes, then power to them. Why they have more shit mutants like Creed working with them is beyond me. But if I were you, I would shut your trap because you are seriously starting to piss me off."

Remy stopped in his tracks and gaped up at the man. A cold pit of fear was snaking its tendrils from the pit up his stomach up his throat. That's what this was? Experiments? They knew about his powers…they were suppressing them. And that…Creed…that monster…was working with them? He was starting to panic again—he couldn't go back in to that locked room…there was no escape there…if Creed got in…he needed to get out, he needed air…

A thick hand grasped him by the forearm and yanked him up to a passing door.

"That's what you have to look forward to you mutant freak."

Remy could see in through the tiny window. He could make out the same lab he had been in yesterday. He could see a small kid strapped down to the table—needles in his arms, gag in his mouth—he could see that familiar mop of brown hair…his panic grew tenfold. That was Michael. That was his brother in there. Michael was strapped, helpless, to the table. Remy started to scream and kick and punch the door. His new blanket and clothes went flying. He could feel rough hands pulling him back, he could hear guards yelling in the corridors. He was shrieking as loud as he could—his brain was hurting. It made sense. All those years ago, every time he had been hurting. Michael was always the one to comfort him. He could remember the warmth of those arms, the warmth that washed over his aching body and took away the pain. Michael was like him? They were siphoning off—draining his abilities—and bottling it. That is why he was healed this morning. That is how they had his DNA. He was being held down and a new guard was emptying yet another vial in to his already shredded veins. He was still screaming. He threw out his left fist and connected with solid bone somewhere. He left to protect his brother and now…Creed was here? His vision was going foggy but he could see the feral smiling eyes looking down on him. The beast picked him up—Remy kicked out in one last display of strength before he lost consciousness…

Victor smirked as he heaved the unconscious mutant on to his shoulders.

"I'll take him back to his room boys."

The tall guard—Stryker—nodded grasped his newly broken nose as he nodded his assent.

"Fine Victor. I don't give a rat's ass what happens to that little shit. Just don't fuck him up bad enough that Essex can't fix him. I'm not taking the fall for you and your sick little fancies."

Victor snarled in response, then turned and sniffed the air. The sweet smell of soap and anger and fear all assaulted his senses. He hurried down the hallway back to the elevator with his prize.

It was finally time to have some fun.


	4. Chapter 4

He was uncomfortable. His body was sprawled out on…concrete? Yes. Cold, hard concrete. His legs felt tingly—itchy—as feeling came slowly back to them. He could scent the faint notes of bleach and cleaner in the air. It smelled sterile. It made the concrete feel…colder. Each new thought presented itself to Remy in a clear bubble of tangibility that sliced its way through the lingering haze of his drug addled mind. His head ached. He was so cold. The concrete was cold. He was…nervous? There were small pinpricks of anxiety shooting their way through his synaptic connections, through to each neuron, fighting for his awareness to take over, to wake up!

There were bright fluorescent lights burning their way into his eyes. He groaned. The concrete was so hard and cold.

He fought to hold on to each thought and slowly tried moving his legs and pushing himself into a low crouch. He made it half way up to his knees when he heard the scraping of nails against the concrete floor.

"Well hello Sleeping Beauty."

He froze.

"Miss me much cupcake?" Creed chuckled—a dry raspy sound. "You were out for a while there. I had to sit in this hellhole waiting for you. "

Remy pushed himself up on to his haunches and scooted back, spine up against the wall. He tried to control his breathing—tried to control the complete panic that was threatening to consume him. He scanned the room quickly trying to locate anything he could use at all to defend himself against the 240 pounds of solid muscle quivering in excitement across from him. There was nothing. The pile of goods they loaded in to his arms earlier—blanket, toothbrush, change of clothes. Nothing he could remotely use in defense. His eyes made contact with the small camera above the door, a mere 20 feet from him. It was whirring with activity, he could see it focusing in on him, then scanning the room. He shot a glance at Creed who had slow evil looking smile spreading across his face. As though he could just read every helpless thought and fear pounding their way through Remy's blood stream. Screw him. He made a split second decision and shot up to his feet then bolted towards the door. Creed was faster. He is always faster. He grabbed Remy and threw him up against the door. He grunted in pain as his shoulder smacked into the metal and raised his eyes up to stare down his tormentor.

"Going somewhere Runt?" he sneered. " Pretty sure they have you under lockdown." To emphasize his point, he grasped the door handle and pulled. Nothing.

Remy struggled against the arms holding him to the doorframe. "You sick FREAK," he gasped out "you pathetic piece of shit" he paused and spit directly into Creed's face, and felt his mouth go dry and his breathing hitch as he saw the transformation from 'sick freak' to violent killer in the eyes of his assailant. Creed threw up his forearm across Remy's neck and pressed in cruelly. And watched as Remy struggled to breathe.

Creed had gleefully watched Remy slowly regain consciousness from across his small cell. He had been itching to sink his claws into him again since he ran out of time on the rooftop of the office building. So he sat, biding his time and quivering in anticipation as visions of assuaging his blood soaked fantasies played out in his mind's eye. When the smaller mutant had finally regained enough control over his drugged out limbs to push himself up, Creed finally spoke.

"Well hello Sleeping Beauty."

Watching the kid freeze in abject terror sent a shiver through his loins. He watched him slowly look up, then back away towards the wall. Watched him look around, quickly casing the room. Watched him glance up at the monitor by the door. The kid probably thought he was being all big and tough not shrieking out for help. Looking him straight in the eyes with those dilated black pupils, rimmed with red. But Creed could see the terror that quickly flashed hot, and could smell the sudden acrid tang of fear induced sweat. He grinned as he saw Remy's muscles bunch in a preface to flight, and he threw himself off his haunches and to the door—throwing his arms around the smaller body and smashing him up against the door, hearing a delightful crack of bone against the hard concrete.

"Going somewhere Runt? Pretty sure they have you under lockdown."

He had planned a slow and humiliating seduction of the kid. He had planned to take his time, make his mind suffer. His long lithe body, soft skin, it all deserved specific attention to detail. When the wet spittle hit his face, he quickly changed plans. Let the beast take over. Screw this kid- he needed to be taken down a notch. No. He needed to be taken apart piece by degrading piece. He threw his forearm up against the kid's neck and pressed hard. Watched as the red rimmed eyes flashed in panic, then in pain. Felt the short fingernails clawing at his arm, desperate to relieve the pressure. Remy was struggling under him, couldn't get any breath in. Creed could feel his heart pumping hard underneath him.

"…plee….as..Plea…se"

Creed let up.

Remy curled into himself with the sudden onslaught of air entering his lungs and struggled to get a full breath in. He gasped for air and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could, concentrating on the sweet oxygen.

Creed delivered a smashing roundhouse blow to the side of his face and Remy felt his jaw shatter—the he collapsed on the floor desperately trying to breathe through his nose, feeling thick hot liquid spilling into his mouth. His head was fuzzy, he heard a disgusting whimpering—moaning sound through the haze. He realized it was him and tried so hard to stop. The pain was coursing through his entire body. His face was swelling up, he could hardly see out of his left eye. He threw out his hands wildy trying to find anything to gain purchase, trying to get out of the Monster's way. He could hear It chuckling and snarling, then he felt himself being hauled back to his feet and slammed back into the wall again. He was fighting so hard for consciousness, was so sick with the pain, was still whimpering, then he felt the hot breath of Creed in his ear whispering. He tried so hard to pull away, but Creed held him firmly.

"Did you like that Runt? Spit at me again and I might just slice your dick off. Slice your dick and balls off and make you eat them…"

Remy was still pulling away, still clenching his eyes closed and trying not to move his face at all—trying not to listen to the awful threats, and terrified of what Creed would try next. He stiffened as he felt Creed's giant hand suddenly slide down his chest, then into the thin cotton hospital grade pants he wore. He could feel the razor sharp nails go lower and lower. He stiffened and tried not to move as he was violently and suddenly groped.

"See, Essex has that handy little pet of his pumping out that healing shit. Last I recall, your arm was fractured in three places. Seems just fine now. So I am sure by tomorrow morning, once I am through with you, they can just go ahead and pump you full of the shit again—make you good as new. So I might just slice it all off and make you eat it." Victor frowned. "Then again, I am not sure how great that crap would be a regrowing a new dick.

Remy was paralyzed with fear. He watched Creed's hand suddenly pull out of his pants and reach to a side pocket and whip out a large hunting knife. He fought to get the words out of his swollen, painful mouth.

"Fuck. You." Remy gulped blood and turned his eyes back up to Creed. He was terrified. He was in pain. He was NOT going down without fighting. He grimaced as he felt the sharp blade against his face.

Creed traced the point of the hunting knife around the kid's swollen left eye and watched him tense up, watched his breaths hitch, watched his eyes squint closed and listened to his sharp gasp as he sliced in to the swollen flesh.

"You'll do anything I want anyways princess."

The knife trailed down Remy's chest slicing away fabric as it went. Remy tried desperately to control his breathing and not let the complete panic override him. He could feel warm tears threaten to spill over and closed his eyes willing them back. The knife moved lower, sliced shallowly into the tight white flesh above the drawstring of his pants.

"Consider yourself well and royally fucked."

Creed suddenly brought the knife back and stabbed into Remy's groin. Watched the darkness blossom out from those blue cotton pants. Licked his lips. And laughed.

 _He could remember curling up against Michael in the small twin bed upstairs. He was shaking with exhaustion and pain—had just taken another belting for coming home late with the cash. But with his arms around Michael he could feel a quiet warm lassitude creeping over him and stealing over his various hurts. By the time he woke up in the middle of the night, he would swear the belting was just not as bad as he thought. He would know he was just a pathetic wimp of an adolescent who just couldn't take anything without crying like a little baby. Because every time he would shriek in pain, wriggle to get away from that evil horrid swatch of leather. And every morning he would wake up with hardly a mark on him. Nothing there. Just the dark shadow of doubt about his abilities to deal. But he still had Michael. And the warmness and love from his brother that surrounded him in those moments was more enough._

Creed drew the knife out of the wall and Remy fell over, caught himself on his hands and started heaving. Creed just laughed. As the bitter scent of urine filled the air, he barked out:

"Honestly Runt. Did you really think I was going to cut off your dick? Then how much fun could I have with you later? Filthy disgusting kid."

He kicked out and caught the young mutant in the ribs. Remy grabbed his stomach and moaned, still heaving, bloody saliva pooling at the corners of his mouth.

"Get up and get out of those nasty pants. You pathetic piece of shit."

Remy was shaking harder than he knew possible. He couldn't control it anymore. He was trying too hard to keep it together—to not end up prostrate on the floor begging for his life, begging for anything. The second Creed drew that knife back he was in a complete state of panic. He didn't want to die. He thought he might—thought he would welcome the chance rather than have to spend another moment in this horrible pain, being humiliated by this evil THING trying to break him. But he didn't want to die. Not here, on this concrete floor, hugging himself for warmth, feeling the blood pool around his shivering body. Not here where his brother was still manacled to a cold slab somewhere. Not here giving this monster the satisfaction.

Then the knife plunged into the wall, just in between his thigh and his junk. A fraction of an inch to either side and he would have been impaled on the thing. Dying. Watching Creed saw off his dick and balls and stuff them into his broken mouth. Choking on his own flesh. Dying.

His bowels let go.

Creed was thoroughly enjoying himself now. It was pathetic really. The kid couldn't even take a threat without pissing himself. He was watching Remy try to push himself up on one arm while still heaving and fighting uncontrollable tremors like a Parkinson's patient. It was laughable.

"Get your filthy ass off the floor and take off those disgusting pants" he barked down.

He watched the kid push himself up finally and strip off the wet clothing. The young mutant hunched back against the wall again for support and stood, pathetically trying to cover himself. That long silky hair fell in front of his face, shielding his eyes. Victor padded over to him.

"Look at me."

Remy tensed up and refused to glance up. Victor reached out with a clawed hand and snagged a fistful of hair, violently pulling up the kid's head and exposing his eyes.

"I said look at me."

Remy glared forward with tear stained orbs. He was still shaking, though was better controlled now. He opened his mouth and spoke,

"Why me?"

The two words were gruff and pain filled. The kid had balls, Creed would give him that. The hurt had to be incredible just moving that broken jaw to speak. The bones had to be rubbing together in there something awful.

"Oh Runt. You just smell so good. And I didn't get my fill of you earlier. The guards out there," Creed motioned with his head towards the door, "they are pretty pissed at that fight you gave earlier. Pretty sure you broke Stryker's nose. They could care less about what happens to you. As long as you are living and breathing tomorrow morning, they can fix you up. Get you functioning enough to strap down to a table. So I consider you my little reward for all my hard work tracking for these fuckers. Just you and me, all night long. Got to break you in. My feisty little Cajun."

With that, he jerked Remy's head to the side and licked up the side of his neck, scenting him all the way. Remy let out a stifled moan. Creed licked back down again to his exposed shoulder, then bit down hard. He listened to the pop of flesh, then sucked on the delightful gush of warm coppery blood flooding his predator mouth. The kid started screaming then, sucked in air and shrieked as his shoulder was torn in to savagely. Creed bit down harder into the muscle, then as the kid struggled he smashed his head back into the concrete and felt him go limp into his arms—pupils dilated, glassy and unconscious.

He came up from his grisly feed, mouth dripping with thick dark blood and smiled down at the comatose mutant. Then he dragged the senseless body with him to the middle of the room.


End file.
